


The tenderness of bruises

by Beleriandings



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Audio 02: Outbreak, Comfort Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: It's been a long and horrible day, cleaning up in the aftermath of Good Thinking, but finally Jack and Ianto get to find some rest and resolution.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 20
Kudos: 103





	The tenderness of bruises

**Author's Note:**

> This leans heavily on the events of Outbreak so please listen to it (or familiarise yourself with the plot on the wiki) for best results! (It also contains heavy spoilers for that audio.)

Jack came back down the ladder to his bunker to sounds of frustration.

Ianto was grimacing in annoyance as he struggled with the borrowed t-shirt they’d given him at the hospital after his shirt had been ruined, wincing in pain as he pushed bruised limbs too far.

Jack winced. “Want some help...?”

“No, I can… _ow_ ” Ianto hissed through his teeth as his elbow caught the wall, jarring his gunshot wound. Jack’s bullet had only grazed his arm, and Ianto had had it stitched and cleaned and bandaged eventually, but not before it had bled a lot; it had been worse than either of them had thought, while fueled by adrenaline earlier in the day. Jack felt horribly guilty both for doing it himself at all, not to mention letting Ianto walk around like that for so long without ordering him to see one of the medics helping with the clean-up operation sooner.

Still, Ianto was okay now, he’d been assured. At least in relative terms; a lot of people had died today, and Ianto had been lucky, Jack knew, to only walk away with scrapes and bruises, and a single, glancing wound. The field medics had been running low on painkillers, but they’d given him some of the stronger alien ones when they got back to the Hub. So theoretically he shouldn’t even be in _too_ much pain, Jack hoped.

The painkillers were the reason he hadn’t let Ianto drive home. That, and the fact that Ianto was half-collapsing on his feet, exhausted even before this exhausting day had begun; Jack had offered to drive him back to his flat himself, but Ianto had chosen to stay here at the Hub with him instead.

Jack had wondered then whether that was a good idea, after the day they’d had; perhaps he should have given Ianto his space. But when he’d suggested it, Ianto had just given him that complicated, reproachful look he got sometimes. Besides, Jack hadn’t had the heart or the strength to argue, especially if it meant sending Ianto away for the night. Perhaps it was selfish to want him close now of all times. But it had been Ianto’s choice, and Jack was far past caring.

But still, Ianto was gritting his teeth as he struggled with the shirt, gasping as he tried to pull one bruised arm back and slip it through the short sleeve.

“Look, d’you want me to–” began Jack, and Ianto hesitated only a moment before turning to him with a defeated sigh.

“Yes, please.”

Ianto was tense as Jack reached out – slowly, more cautiously than usual – and straightened Ianto’s arm, lifting it above his head, then did the same with the other. He picked up the hem of the shirt and started to lift it up – feeling a renewed sense of guilt at Ianto’s slight hiss of pain – and carefully pulled it up over his head, removing it from Ianto’s good arm, and then, finally, from his bandaged one, dropping it to the side with a sigh.

Ianto raised his head, standing in front of him, bare-chested and perfectly still. Watching him. Jack didn’t blame him, if he was wary. But still, Ianto made no move to push him away either, simply letting the moment stretch between them, its own witness. Jack found his eyes drawn to the palette of fresh bruises splashed across Ianto’s skin, the many small cuts and scrapes. The worse patches, from where the virus had made Ianto rub his own skin raw and bleeding – though always discreetly, always where it wouldn’t show under his clothes – and the dressings covering the worst parts. At least Ianto looked better since they’d cleaned the blood off his skin at the hospital, but it still cut right to Jack’s heart, seeing him like that.

And there was something else too, that drew his eye. Slowly, testing the waters, Jack raised his hand, frowning slightly, tacitly asking permission.

Ianto nodded very slightly, granting it. And so Jack ran his fingertips very gently over the purpling hand-print bruise on Ianto’s throat, his heart aching; if he put his palm at just the right angle, he knew the shape and size of it would match. He didn’t, though; didn’t want to see the perfect fit, didn’t want to see Ianto flinch. He didn’t want to cause him any more pain than he already had and especially didn’t want to dig up the fear that was surely just below the surface, because how could it not be? In fact, Ianto should rightly be much more outwardly afraid, Jack thought with a pang.

The thought that he had done this damage to Ianto, broken all the microscopic blood vessels under his skin to ebb and bloom into bruises… that hurt like a blow to his own chest. And there was the gunshot wound on his arm, below the swathe of bandages, where Jack’s bullet had clipped Ianto’s bicep. Metal tearing through flesh and muscle that seemed all too fragile, today of all days.

The sight of Ianto’s wounds hurt deeply enough on its own, but the fact that Ianto was just standing here, absolutely still and letting Jack so close, so soon, sent a fresh twist of pain through his chest. Ianto trusted him so absolutely that it scared him sometimes.

He looked back into Ianto’s eyes, watching Ianto watch him. Ianto’s eye was still swollen half-closed – that one hadn’t been him, he’d had it from the fight in the morning, but still it hurt him to see Ianto’s skin beaten and damaged at all – and his lip was split and thickened, giving a slightly lopsided aspect to his scrutiny. But his expression was intent, watching Jack with heartbreaking concern.

And that was a something, too; Jack felt a renewed sense of guilt. Ianto shouldn’t be the one looking at him like that, not after everything Jack had done to him today. The fact that it was Good Thinking that was to blame was immaterial; the handprints still matched.

“ _Jack_.”

Jack blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by Ianto’s voice, feeling the buzz of it at Ianto’s throat where his hand had come to rest. Ianto was letting him touch, not pulling away; Jack wondered what that was costing him, staying so still. Quickly, he pulled his hand down, making Ianto sigh and catch his fingers at his side.

“Jack, you know I don’t blame you.”

Jack swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “It would be okay, if you did. You know that, right?” Jack motioned him quiet as Ianto opened his mouth again. “Because yeah, I know what you’re gonna say, Ianto. You’re going to say that the virus made me do all those things, and it did. But I still _did_ them, with my own hands. And some part of that is gonna stay with you. And… I’m _sorry_.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Well, I am” said Jack. “ _Please_ , Ianto...” he knew Ianto knew what he was asking for, because he sighed, nodding softly and turning his hand around in Jack’s, weaving their fingers together.

“I shot you, too” said Ianto suddenly, looking upset.

“Self-defense” said Jack, frowning. He wanted nothing but to pull Ianto into his arms, to hold onto him, to keep him close after he’d almost lost him. But he couldn’t, he knew; it was too soon, he needed to give Ianto space. Or rather, he should have done so a long time ago. Jack had a horrible feeling he’d be the death of him one day, today’s lucky escape notwithstanding.

“I had the virus too” said Ianto, frowning at him, bringing Jack back to the present. “I was fighting it so hard, but...” he looked pained, shaking his head. His eyes flicked upwards to meet Jack’s. “Just because it healed, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Jack sighed, clutching Ianto’s hand in his own. “True” he said. “But only one of us could have died permanently today.”

Ianto met his eye, bringing Jack’s hand up to clasp between his own; Jack knew him well enough that he could feel that the steadiness in Ianto’s grip was very carefully maintained.

Ianto leaned forward a little, narrowing the gap between them but not quite closing it, as he usually would.

Well, Jack was expecting that they’d have to do this by increments anyway.

“Ianto… those things I said” said Jack. “I shouldn’t have–”

“It was just the virus, yes, I know Jack” said Ianto, a little impatiently. He frowned, looking extremely troubled as he stared away from Jack. “I definitely said some _things_ myself, while we’re on the subject. I think we should just agree to forget it, don’t you?”

Jack opened his mouth, unable to articulate what he wanted to say; he remembered Ianto telling him he loved him, the deep, tugging _ache_ that had set off in his heart, cutting clean through the blood-soaked haze that tinged all the memories he had of when the virus was acting on his mind.

He remembered saying it back, meaning it from the very depths of his heart and feeling fear lance through him, clarity cutting through the red mist that was permeating his brain as he realised the weight and truth of it. Again, because it was not the first time he’d opened his mouth to say the words, far from the first time he’d thought them, but shaping them in his mouth would cost him more than he thought he was able to give, one day. Because he _did_ love Ianto, it was an undeniable truth of the universe. But it had been accompanied by a stab of fear a moment later, as sure as thunder on the heels of a lightning flash. Fear of what it meant, fear for the future. Fear of being in far too deep with Ianto, knowing what that meant, paralysed as the realities of his life and eternal existence pulled him in different directions, tearing him limb from limb.

He remembered crying in Ianto’s arms, just before his knees gave out and the virus killed him. He remembered that hardly any of that had been the acute physical pain; Ianto’s hand on his cheek had been so gentle, but the very softness of it burned like a brand.

So yes, there were things he wanted to say; so many they still felt likely to burst out of him at any moment, tearing him apart with their urgency. But as he opened his mouth he found no words came from him at all.

Another bad sign; this was changing him, Jack knew, this was turning him into something new. He, the fixed point in space and time, who was doomed to stay the same until the universe died around him. _Funny that_ , he thought. He swallowed down the words he couldn’t say, and breathed out. “Yes” he said. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

“Jack...” Ianto stepped forward towards him, the abandoned shirt dropping to the ground, so that they were face to face in the darkness with the backs of Jack’s knees up against the side of the narrow bed. He could see the need in Ianto’s face, could recognise what it looked like when Ianto was asking for comfort without really asking for it, not in so many words. They never said the words they meant to each other, thought Jack, and mostly that was okay, that was just how they were.

That look in Ianto’s eyes said more than any words could anyway, thought Jack, and set off some deep and aching thing in his chest, set it crying out with want as Ianto pressed against him. And so, instead of arguing about Ianto’s bruises or giving each other space or anything else, he let himself be kissed, slowly and gently. He could feel the slight heat of Ianto’s swollen lip, the very faint taste of blood as he ran his tongue over the place, gentling, before Ianto’s tongue was in his mouth, swallowing the soft sound Jack made back at him.

They kissed slowly, carefully, mindful of Ianto’s injuries and all that had happened today, still too close at hand. He felt Ianto shudder against him, twitching a little as Jack accidentally caught a bruise on his ribcage as his hand came up to touch Ianto’s side. “Sorry” gasped Jack into his mouth, pulling away, but Ianto just kissed him again, silencing him with the motion of his lips, slow and hypnotic. Jack could feel himself getting hard, as Ianto started to grind against him, but he frowned as he felt him tremble in his arms again.

With great effort, Jack pushed him away, careful of Ianto’s bruises. He stared at his face in the dim lamplight. “Take it slow” he said, a little admonishing. “You’re hurt. We don’t need to, tonight–”

But Ianto shushed him with a hand over his mouth. “ _Please_ ” he said abruptly. “Jack. I… I need...”

Jack’s heart clenched in his chest; he knew what Ianto wanted, and why. Ianto needed to know it was still him, that they were still okay, that his touch could be gentle rather than violent. He wanted to drown out the fear and horror of Jack’s hands on his throat, squeezing. To purge it all with this, this familiar way they cared for each other, without any words needed.

Jack sighed; if he was stronger, he would’ve said no, would’ve insisted on talking it through. Instead, he turned them around gently so Ianto was standing with his back to the bed, maneuvering him carefully down so he was sitting. Ianto went willingly, knees bending, and Jack remembered how tired he’d been; he was starting to feel the night of no sleep followed by a day of blood-soaked chaos affecting him too, and he needed less sleep than Ianto did. Still, he definitely didn’t have the strength to tell Ianto no now, to just lie next to him and sleep; he felt almost fevered, passing beyond exhaustion and circling back around into wakefulness, and even as he contemplated it Ianto was pulling him down with him. Jack followed the momentum of Ianto’s hand in his hair until he was kneeling on the floor beside the bed, pressing a very gentle kiss to the soft part of Ianto’s abdomen, on a small section of undamaged skin between the bruises. He didn’t want any part of this to hurt; God knew they’d both had enough pain for one day.

He kissed a line along Ianto’s stomach, until he got to the waistband of Ianto’s borrowed sweatpants. Helping Ianto put his legs on the bed and lie back against the pillows – again, slowly and carefully, trying not to hurt him – Jack helped him gently out of his trousers and underwear, kissing the bruised place where his hip bone lay under the skin; Ianto must have fallen against it at some point, hurt himself. Sometimes Jack forgot how easily human skin bruised, how long it stayed damaged, when his own simply healed over usually before he had his clothes off to notice.

Others’ bodies reminded him. Most recently, Ianto reminded him, made him painfully aware of the physical fragility of every other human but him.

He put the thought from his mind, concentrating on kissing Ianto’s hips, his thighs, taking care not to applying pressure to the deep-bruised skin. It would hurt worse for Ianto in the morning, he knew. The least he could do was be gentle.

He didn’t know how long he lingered there; the moment seemed to stretch out as he was softly kissing and lapping at his skin, unhurried. Ianto was hard against his cheek, and Jack leaned to the side to kiss his shaft, so very lightly. At this he felt Ianto’s hands go to his hair – still a little damp from where he’d scrubbed the last of the blood out earlier – and grasp loosely into it, making a soft sound above his head.

Jack knelt on the bed, motioning that Ianto should stay lying still as he licked up along Ianto’s stiffening cock; he felt Ianto relax fractionally as he dipped his head down, taking the greatest care not to let his teeth graze him. Sometimes they both liked a little of that, but tonight was a night of no hard edges, of enacting his promise to never, ever cause Ianto pain. It was a promise he was afraid he’d break one day, not by choice but by accident, by the simple cruelty of the world, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to keep it tonight.

He felt Ianto sigh, fingers loosening a little on his hair as Jack bobbed his head down, licking his shaft with the flat of his tongue before taking Ianto into his throat. Ianto moaned, sending the vibration of it through his abdomen and the heated skin pressed against Jack’s face. Jack sighed and hummed around Ianto’s cock down his throat; it was better than words, better than the things he’d said and done wrong today, all the things he’d said that he’d meant but had rung cruelly hollow, even though some of them had been true.

But this… this was just the two of them, alone in the silence, and Jack meant to make Ianto feel good and safe and cared for; this was better than any verbal apology he could have come up with.

He felt Ianto raise his hips, thrusting weakly up into his mouth; sometimes, Jack would push him back down again, hold him fast in place, but now he just gently eased him back, not wanting to use any force he didn’t have to. He rubbed his hand against Ianto’s side, fingers as gentle as he could make them, as he felt Ianto’s cock twitch in his mouth, felt the heat in his throat as Ianto finally came with an exhausted, broken cry, Jack’s name on his lips.

Jack carried him through it, touching his own aching cock even as Ianto came down from it, softening shaft slipping from Jack’s lips. As soon as it did, Ianto’s boneless hand came around behind Jack’s neck, pulling him up to kiss him, to taste himself on Jack’s lips. Jack went gladly, having missed Ianto’s mouth.

He loved the way Ianto was when he had just come, loose and relaxed, the pleasured flush to his cheeks. Today he was even more so, with the exhaustion and the palpable sense of relief; indeed, Ianto seemed to have confirmed what he wanted to as he sighed into Jack’s mouth, blunt-nailed fingers slipping through the back of Jack’s damp hair as Ianto slipped down and pressed his face to the side of Jack’s throat. His warm hand found Jack’s cock and his fingers met Jack’s own there, both of them curling around it.

It didn’t take them long to bring Jack off together, hands moving in tandem and once again with carefully measured gentleness. Jack closed his eyes against the welling of tears, the rolling swell of his orgasm rushing up on him under their joined, careful hands as he gasped against Ianto’s hair.

After, Jack got up and carefully cleaned them both, minding Ianto’s cuts and bruises. When he was finished it took a moment or two – and a few slight gasps of pain from Ianto – before they managed to find a comfortable position on the cramped bed, close by necessity. They ended up with Jack lying on his back – he didn’t want to accidentally roll in his sleep, over the course of some inevitable nightmare, and put his weight on Ianto tonight – with Ianto’s head pillowed on his shoulder, his injured arm extended across Jack’s chest to keep him from lying on it or jarring his wound.

It was a slightly awkward sleeping position, but at least Ianto seemed mostly unbothered now, lying against Jack and half holding him; his bandaged arm was slung straight across Jack’s chest, both proprietary and grounding and very, very warm.

When the light was finally out, Jack sighed his relief at the darkness; today had been a bad day, but perhaps tomorrow would not be so bad. If he leaned his head forward just a fraction, he could kiss the ridge of bone at Ianto’s wrist, the soft skin there miraculously untouched by today’s violence. This he did, bringing Ianto’s hand up to his mouth and turning it, feeling Ianto’s pulse against his lips.

Ianto shifted beside him – probably trying to rearrange himself so he was lying on as few bruises as possible, Jack thought guiltily, letting Ianto’s wrist go. But even as he did he felt the warm press of Ianto’s lips on his collarbone, his arm tightening fractionally.

“Jack?” Ianto said against his skin, so quiet he felt the sounds of his name more than heard them.

“Hmm?”

“How… are you?”

Jack chuckled. “I thought that was my line.”

“Jack, the last time you went throught what you did today, you got burned alive. Today, you nearly killed me, and...” Ianto broke off. “I just thought I’d… check.”

Jack closed his eyes, breathing in and out and thinking before answering. “I’m okay” he said at last. “It could’ve ended a lot worse than it did… right?”

“...Yeah” said Ianto, and Jack could hear the frown in his voice. “But...”

“What?”

“Jack, I really...” Ianto hesitated, a little of the tension from before coming back.

Jack’s heart went to his throat. “ _What?_ ” This seemed different than the tension from before, more heavy with the weight of words both said and unsaid, than blood and violence. At least that had been cleared away, but the words remained, clustering and pressing close in the dark.

“...Never mind” said Ianto. “Just… as long as you’re okay. The way you were _screaming_ , before...” he felt Ianto shudder.

Jack smiled in the darkness, letting Ianto’s arms envelope him, bruised and injured as they were. “I’m okay” he said. “Go to sleep, Ianto. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He felt Ianto snort. “That’s a lie and you know it. This lot’ll hurt much worse when I wake up.”

Jack chuckled. “Probably, yeah. Sorry.”

“Still” said Ianto, coming fractionally closer to him; he was very warm against Jack’s side. “It’s late. In fact, I think it’s tomorrow already. We should get some sleep.”

“Yeah. And hey, don’t worry about waking me if you need some more painkillers, or–”

“ _Jack_. It’s fine. Let’s just... sleep, okay?”

“...Okay.”

“ _Okay_.”

Jack sighed, letting Ianto relax against his side once more. Despite his exhaustion, it took a long time for Ianto to fall asleep; Jack liked to think he was good at telling by now, even when Ianto was trying to pretend. He never quite let out the tension in his muscles exactly the same.

Still, after a while he felt Ianto’s body start to go slack against his side, the warmth of him lulling Jack too, rocking him off to sleep with the overlapping rhythms of breaths and heartbeats where their skin pressed together.

The very last thing he was aware of – that he was not entirely sure wasn’t a dream – was Ianto’s lips moving against his shoulder, forming words with no sound.

But before he could make out what Ianto was saying, he was falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.


End file.
